thriller
The Holy American Empire
The air in Panama City hung heavy with humidity and unease. The skyline glittered just beyond the tinted windows of the presidential palace, but inside, beneath the sterile glow of the conference hall lights, the atmosphere was taut with fear.
By Logan M. Snyder4 months ago in Fiction
Trapped by the Spider. Content Warning.
**Warning: Contains depiction of kidnapping and torture.** I knocked on the door three times. Knock. Knock. Knock. My presence was greeted by a dog barking, and within a minute, the sound of locks fumbling. The door swung open and I was greeted by the acrid smell of Marlboro red’s–what Grandpa used to smoke. A man stood in the doorway with a mess of curly grey and smoke-dyed hair. A slop of a beard decorated his face with his high cheekbones that pushed on narrow, beady brown eyes. He stood taller than me, but was short for a man. His red and black flannel fit poorly over his round belly.
By Callum Summers4 months ago in Fiction
Parallel Collision. Honorable Mention in Parallel Lives Challenge.
The morning was unremarkable. The morning welcomed me with the kiss of a thin fog coiling over the payment and just the whisper of slick frost and ice waiting for the sun to thaw it back into water. The streetlight on the corner flickered like it was getting ready to die out. I tightened my jacket around me and checked my watch while I rushed to the bus stop a block away. Seemingly reading my mind, the bus rounds the corner, headlights splitting the mist.
By Autumn Stew4 months ago in Fiction
Why My Body Remembers. Content Warning.
The night bus to Bangalore smells of diesel and longing. I press my forehead against the cool, vibrating window, watching the neon signs of Chennai blur into streaks of fuchsia and gold. My phone is dead. My backpack, stuffed under the seat, holds a single change of clothes and a dog-eared copy of a Rumi translation I pretend to understand. This is not a pilgrimage. It’s a flight. A crack in the surface of my well-ordered life, and I have slipped through.
By Chahat Kaur4 months ago in Fiction
When Mercy Knocked
The rain had been falling for hours—steady, heavy, and unending. It wasn’t the kind of rain that washed the world clean, but the kind that soaked into it, making everything heavier. Outside, the city lights were muted behind the downpour. Inside, Samuel’s apartment felt isolated, sealed off from the rest of the world.
By Carolina Borges4 months ago in Fiction
The Knock at Room 9
The first knock came just after midnight — three slow, deliberate taps against the door, patient and almost polite. Agnes Miller opened her eyes. A thin strip of light spilled beneath the door, but the sound hadn’t come from the hallway. It was closer, as if the room itself had exhaled. She turned toward the nightstand, where her worn Bible and silver rosary rested. The beads trembled faintly, catching the moonlight that slipped through the blinds.
By Carolina Borges4 months ago in Fiction
Echoes of Solace
The knock came just after midnight. Three sharp, deliberate ramps that echoed through the apartment like a warning. I froze, gripping the edge of the kitchen counter, heart hammering. No one should be here. Not at this hour. Not in my building.
By Marlowe Solace4 months ago in Fiction
Zebras in the Woods. Content Warning.
Shelly shifted deeper into her pumpkin colored, lumpy couch. Trying to find a comfortable position as the fire crackled loudly in the modest cabin. Her cabin, she thought, smiling to herself. Admittedly, it was a bit early in October to have a roaring fire, but having invested her life savings into a semi-derelict cabin she spent the summer renovating, it was time to enjoy the fruits of her labor. She took a healthy sip of her red wine. A bottle she picked up in town about 20 miles away from the local vineyard, or what would be considered local in a town as sprawling as this where there were more trees than people that made up the population.
By Lauren A Radspinner4 months ago in Fiction
